


a tough kid who sometimes swallows nails

by garfunkelandgoats



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobic Language, Implied Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-02-03 17:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12752646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garfunkelandgoats/pseuds/garfunkelandgoats
Summary: Rick's parents allow him to come home for the holidays as part of a ploy to marry him off so they won't have to deal with him anymore and so in an attempt at rebellion he bribes Vyvyan into pretending to be his boyfriend





	1. peaches

“A Tough Kid Who Sometimes Swallows Nails”

Chapter One

 

 

 

 

Rick glances over his shoulder as discreetly as he can--which is to say, not at all--and awkwardly attempts to angle his thin frame so as to block the cashier’s view while he swipes a large, three-days-overdue can of peaches from the shelf and unsubtly stuffs it inside his jacket.

 

“Hey!” The man behind the till isn’t much taller than Rick but he’s nearly three times as wide and rather sturdy, his face—features unpleasantly smushed together in the middle not unlike Rick’s childhood dog Mr. Piddles—beginning to go purple as he lumbers forward. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

He freezes, a nervous little grin playing at his lips as he wheezes out a small and cautious laugh that dies as a snort, glancing between the larger man and the door.

 

“Well, uhh…” Rick trails off, shifting from one foot to the other and rising to his tip-toes for a second in an effort to crane his head over the nearest shelf before visibly deflating and settling back on his heels, even more anxious than before. Anger born of worry flickers on his face for a moment before he forces another uneasy, pained smile. “I, uh….”

 

The cashier stares blankly at him, expectant.

 

He licks his lips, that same awkward chuckle returning, and glances out the door again to see Vyvyan grinning manically and flicking him the V’s before running off after Mike and Neil, stolen groceries and dirty magazines spilling out of his arms.

 

“BASTARDS!” he seethes and clenches his fists, eyes wide as he bounces on the balls of his feet and accidentally topples a nearby display in his indignation. “oh, _shit_ —“

 

The glass containers for the samples shatter on the ground and he remembers all at once the cashier when the larger man punches him in the nose, sending him sprawling before he scrambles to his feet and out the door, still hugging the can to his chest.

 

 

X

 

 

He’s slumped at the kitchen table, rather awkwardly holding the unwieldy can in one hand while trying to get at it with an old knife in the other, when Vyvyan collapses into Mike’s usual chair at his right, an arm slung over the back of his chair. Without saying anything, he offers Rick a bag of frozen peas, which the poet sets down the can and knife to take, wary as he presses it to his swollen nose and hisses through clenched teeth.

 

Vyvyan juts his chin at Rick, nodding. “What’s that you’ve got?”

 

“Nothing that’s any concern of _yours_ , matey! I was nicking it before you lot left me to _die_ at the hands of that fascist at the corner store. How do I look?” He takes off the frozen peas, blinking stupidly as he leans forward and tilts his head up.

 

It’s almost certainly broken, that much is obvious, with the dark bruising under his eyes and around the bridge of his nose and the blood drying from his nostrils.

 

“Hideous as usual. Worse, actually.” Vyvyan wrinkles his nose, grimacing even as his insult is plainly obvious, and as Rick settles back in his seat with a huff to reapply the frozen peas he leans across the table to grab the can of peaches and knife before sitting back in his own chair.

 

“Hey!” Rick protests, flailing uselessly in an attempt at taking it back, which proves more difficult than he’d anticipated when nursing a broken nose.

 

“Oh, sod off,” Vyvyan rolls his eyes and violently jams the knife into the top of the can, ripping it around to open it with little effort before eating a peach slice with his bare hands.

 

Rick scoffs, face scrunching up-- _”ah!_ ”--in disgust. “That’s completely revolting, _Vyvyan!_ Completely and utterly _foul._ ”

 

The punk glares and flicks a glob of peach goo at him, leading him to nearly break his nose all over again in his ill-advised haste to get out of range. Rick cries out in pain, pressing the ice harder against his nose as if in doing so he could will it number. A grin plays at Vyvyan’s lips for a moment as he barks out a decidedly unkind laugh.

 

“Pah! Girly.”

 

“Shut _up_ , Vyvyan! After what you’ve put me through today you can just about shut _up_.” And so the people’s poet turns away to sulk as Vyvyan scrapes at the sides of the can with the knife.

 

Neil shuffles into the room, his expression souring further as he lingers awkwardly in the doorway, sort of swaying in place--aptly--like a weeping willow.

 

“Oh _wow_ ,” he moans, looking miserably to the pile of garbage accumulating in a corner of the room. “We’ve only just got the groceries and you’ve already gone and eaten them all up. I didn’t even get to have anything to eat.”

 

“Oh _GOD_ ,Neil!” Rick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Won’t you just _shut up_?”

 

“Don’t be so heavy, Rick, I’m fragile right now..”

 

“OH ARE YOU, _NEIL_ ? Are you _fra-gile?!_ ” Rick slams his hands on the table and gets to his feet, tripping over his own chair a little before righting himself--”right!”-- and attempting to hurl the bag of frozen peas at Neil.

 

It hits the ground rather unceremoniously between them and the people’s poet shifts uncomfortably before sitting down again and turning away. He regrets having thrown it almost immediately when the ache in his nose starts up again but is too proud to go and pick it back up off the ground.

 

“Why’d you have to go and throw that, Rick? You could have really hurt me!”

 

“No he couldn’t have, Neil,” Mike says as he makes his way over to the table and takes a seat.

 

Roused from his brooding, Rick scoffs, arms crossed sulkily over his chest. “Well it would have served you bloody right if I had, _hippie!_ ”

 

“Rick?”

 

“Yes, Mike?”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

Seething, he slumps down in his chair again, glaring up at the ceiling before getting bored and looking over to where Vyvyan is dismantling the can with the knife. Rick finds himself mentally tracing the line of his jaw with an anxious caution, the way one watches some wild and incredible thing from a safe distance lest it notice and rip you to pieces.

 

He blinks, frowning, and looks away again.


	2. proposal

“A Tough Kid Who Sometimes Swallows Nails”

Chapter Two

  
  
  
  
  
  


Vyvyan slumps into the couch, his legs spread far apart as he stares blankly at the static on the television. As his gaze loses focus it warps together, buzzing into a single shape until he blinks and it’s back to nothing again. He lets out a sharp, bored exhale through his nose and slouches lower, going a little cross eyed until his view is obstructed by a familiarly obnoxious, blinding yellow.

 

Rolling his eyes, he shoves Rick out of the way and continues staring at the telly.

 

Rick picks himself up off the ground, face red with humiliated rage. “Vyvyan, you BASTARD! You utter  _ CREEP!” _

 

“Shut up, girl.” As much fun as it normally is to kick the shit out of the poet, Vyvyan finds that he isn’t in the mood.

 

Well, maybe just a little.

 

He grabs a bottle from where it’s stuck between two couch cushions and hurls it at Rick, unable to hold back a twisted little grin at his flatmate’s shouting.

 

“What’s that you’ve got there, Rick?” Mike raises his eyebrows over his dark shades, glancing disinterestedly through last month’s paper.

 

That does the trick. As if nothing had happened, as if the front of his dungarees didn’t reek of alcohol strong enough to make his eyes water, Rick straightens up, already infuriatingly smug. Vyvyan wishes he had another bottle left to throw at the stupid wanker.

 

“I’m glad you asked, Mike!” Rick glances back towards Vyvyan rather unsubtly, turning his nose up as he sneers, hands on his hips. 

 

Mike stares blankly at him and he visibly wilts, embarrassed.

 

“Right, well--” An awkward pause, and then he crosses the room and practically slams a sloppily opened envelope on the table. 

 

“Have you got a letter, Rick?” Neil blinks dumbly from over by the stove where he’s scraping blackened bile from the bottom and sides of a pot. 

 

“Shut up, hippie,” he says, patting urgently at the envelope. “Go on, read it.”

 

Mike sighs sharply and takes it, reading aloud:

 

_ Richard, _

 

_ Your mother wishes for me to inform you that we’re allowing you to come home for the holidays this year, on the condition that you behave yourself. Keep your mouth shut, you’re breaking her heart with all this liberal horseshit you’ve been going on about. _

 

_ We think we’ve found someone to set you up with. A business partner of mine has a daughter about your age, and she’s a decent enough girl and the best you can hope for, so you’d better be on your best behavior around her. Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll make you come to your senses. _

 

_ Don’t make me regret this. _

 

_ PS I love you and your my favarite son and I’m very proud of you Rick _

 

“ _ Yeah _ , see? I’ve been invited home for Christmas! Bet you’re all pretty bloody jealous, aren’t you?” He looks pointedly at Vyvyan, pursing his lips.

 

“Hey, Rick?”

 

“Yes,  _ what is it _ , Neil?”

 

“How come your dad wrote that last bit in crayon?”

 

Rick says nothing, looking like he’d just sucked on a lemon. Vyvyan turns around to leer at him.

 

“You wrote it in yourself, didn’t you, poof?”

 

“No--shut up, Vyvyan, I did no such thing! He just….he just forgot when he was typing it is all.”

 

“He spelled ‘favorite’ wrong. And ‘you’re’.” Mike turns the letter around for Vyvyan to see and the punk barks out a laugh.

 

“HE’S A BUSY MAN, OKAY! He hasn’t got time for...spelling...and whatnot.”

 

“Alright, Rick, settle down.”

 

“Yeah, no need to get all uncool and heavy, Rick.”

 

He visibly seethes, face flushing a bright red again as he crosses his arms over his chest, still glancing anxiously between the table and the couch.

 

“Say, what’s this then about your parents marrying you off?”

 

“Hm? OH! Oh, yes, that.”

 

“Wow, does this mean you’re gonna…. _ do it?” _ Neil’s eyes are wide as he whispers, awed.

 

“Uh...” Rick trails off before catching on and nodding enthusiastically. “Bloody right it does! Yeah, all the time--”

 

“Good for you, then.” Mike turns back to his paper. Vyvyan, surprisingly enough, says nothing throughout all of this, his gaze remaining fixed at the ‘A’ on Rick’s back, the muscle in his jaw tightening momentarily.

 

“No, it’s  _ not _ good for me, actually, because….er..” Rick shifts from one foot to the other, chewing the inside of his mouth. “Because they’re being pretty bloody fascist trying to tie me down to one girlie, aren’t they? Yeah! A stallion….a... a young buck like me can’t be tied down! So that’s that! In fact I’m not getting married at all, am I?”

 

“Rick, that’s a terrible idea. Just marry the bird.” 

 

“Uh-uh, matey! Marriage is a sham!”

 

“So what are you gonna do then, Rick?”

 

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do, Neil!” He seems to recall then that he has no actual plan for what he’s going to do, and instead looks helplessly around the room before his eyes settle on Vyvyan, who then snaps out of his trance, pointedly not looking at Rick.

 

“I’m gonna stick it to them real good! That’ll show ‘em! Riiight.”

 

“And how the hell are you gonna do that? You bringing your boyfriend round for tea, eh, girly?” 

 

Something switches on in Rick’s head and he grins manically, nodding. 

 

“As a matter of fact I  _ am _ , Vyvyan!”

 

He laughs hysterically, disbelieving. “You’re  _ what? _ ”

 

“If I really wanna make those fascists mad, I’ve gotta shock them! They’ll never see it coming; me,  _ gay? _ ”

 

Vyvyan laughs even louder, falling off the couch and onto the ground.

 

“Aren’t you, though?” Mike raises an eyebrow.

 

“Uh….well….that’s beside the point!” Rick chuckles nervously before righting himself. “Yeaaah, that’ll teach them! I’m gonna turn up to Christmas dinner with my boyfriend in tow. How shocking! How….how…”

 

“But you haven’t got one, haven’t you?” Neil frowns, confused.

 

“Shit, you’re right.” He squirms for a second before his eyes bug out. “VYVYAN!”

 

The punk manages to catch his breath enough to respond. “What?”

 

“Vyvyan, be my boyfriend!”

 

He stares up at Rick from the floor, propping himself up into a seated position, too shocked to attack him properly. “ _ What?! _ ”

 

“Vyvyan, you’re going to be my boyfriend and that’s the end of it!”

 

“Fuck off!”

 

“You’re just about the most offensive person possible, there’s no way they won’t hate you! You’ve got to be my boyfriend!” His face and the tips of his ears are bright red as what he’s saying catches up to him, visibly growing more distressed as he begins to realize he’s probably in for the beating of his life. “Anyways, there’ll be food. Not lentils.”

 

“Oh, sure, then.”

 

“So Vyvyan, you--sorry,  _ what? _ ”

 

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” The punk shrugs.

 

“Oh.” Rick laughs, nervous as he places his hands on his hips again and shifts back to his other foot. “Sounds good, then.”

 

“Rick, why is your face so red?”

 

“SHUT UP, NEIL!” He storms upstairs and slams his bedroom door behind him.

Vyvyan gets up at last and makes his way over to the table, plopping down into a free chair. 

 

“Bloody poof.”


	3. petulance

“A Tough Kid Who Sometimes Swallows Nails”

Chapter Three

  
  
  
  
  


Rick exhales sharply, propping his head up with his arm as he lazily traces a dull pencil over the old newspaper folded in front of him. The styrofoam cup of coffee at his side went cold nearly an hour ago but he can’t bring himself to drink it no matter how uncomfortably his thirst twitches in his mouth. Outside, the sky begins to grow dark even as it speeds past into nothing.

 

Vyvyan shoves his way into the compartment before unceremoniously plopping himself down onto the seat opposite Rick. He tears bits of paper wrapping off of a straw and flicks them at Rick while the poet ignores him, seething quietly until he can’t take it any more and grabs the debris in his fist, awkwardly attempting to throw them at Vyvyan all at once. (Not as impressive as he’d thought, since they mostly just settled like confetti, but it’s the thought that counts.)

 

“What’s wrong with you, then?” Vyvyan asks, leaning his back against the wall and stretching his legs out on the seat as he chews absentmindedly on the straw.

 

Rick scoffs, tossing his hands up in frustration before settling down again--there’s a helplessness in the way he squares his shoulders that Vyvyan doesn’t miss. “Oh, that’s very nice, isn’t it?  _ ‘What’s wrong with me, then?’  _  As if you don’t bloody well know--and anyways,  _ Vyvyan _ , I resent the implication that there’s--”

 

“Rick,” says Vyvyan, uncharacteristically mild as he places the unchewed end of the straw in his mouth.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Shut up.” He blows the straw at Rick’s face, sneering at the way his expression darkens when the chewed, spit-covered end nearly gets him in the eye.

 

“Oh, aren’t you funny, Vyvyan? Aren’t you  _ cute? _ ”

 

“I should think so, yeah.” He’s cheerful, full of himself even. It makes Rick more than a little queasy.

 

Rick is turning red again, eyes a little wet--he’s grown humiliated more easily than usual lately, more quickly brought to tears, which even Vyvyan hasn’t been able to miss. He bristles at the sight of it, deeply uncomfortable in a way he wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, and yet in the absence of their housemates finds himself going easy on him where normally he would only give it to him worse.

 

“So when we get to my parents’,” Rick begins, sniffling as he rubs his nose on his sleeve. “We’ve really got to sell it to them. Make them think we’re….you know….”

 

“Poofs?”

 

He makes an offended noise before nodding half-heartedly. “Yeah. That.”

 

“Shouldn’t be hard for you then, eh?”

 

“Vyvyan, I’m not--shut  _ up. _ ” 

 

He barks out a laugh, turning in his seat to face Rick as he slouches over the table. “You’re not what?”

 

“I’m not--I’m not  _ gay _ , Vyvyan.” Rick lowers his voice, glancing around as if anyone else cared to listen in.

 

“Ha! Could’ve fooled me!”

 

Rick reaches across the table to smack Vyvyan, who gets him back much harder.

 

“Hey--! There’ll be none of that in front of my parents!”

 

Vyvyan frowns. “And why not?”

 

“ _ Because _ ,” Rick sighs heavily, rolling his eyes. “We don’t want them to think I’m some sort of battered bride now, do we?”

 

“Pah. Girly.”

 

Rick flicks him on the forehead, immediately getting defensive again when Vyvyan goes to retaliate. “OKAY OKAY!”

 

Vyvyan backs off in favor of staring Rick down while he grabs his discarded straw and leans back into his own seat, chewing at it again.

 

“Right, then…” Rick trails off, frowning. “What’s our story?”

 

“Whuyamean?”

 

“Oh  _ GOD _ , Vyvyan, don’t chew with your  _ horrid  _ mouth open!”

 

The punk shoots him a look and he sighs, defeated. “Okay, point taken.”

 

Vyvyan removes the straw and flicks it at the compartment door. “What ‘story’?”

 

“Oh, you know. How we got together.”

 

“That’s easy then. I shagged you.”

 

“ _ What? _ ”

 

“In the bum.”

 

“Ugh,  _ Christ _ that’s vulgar! I’m not some common slag, Vyvyan, I wouldn’t--”

 

Vyvyan rolls his eyes. “Well  _ I _ wouldn’t be the one getting it up the bum!”

 

“And why not, hm?” Rick leans his head on his hand, eyebrows raised. 

 

“Because I’m not a bloody poof, that’s why not!”

 

Rick groans loudly. “THAT’S NOT--that isn’t the point, Vyvyan, and you know it.”

 

“Oh, do I now?” Vyvyan grumbles, slouching further in his seat.

 

“ _ Yes _ , you do. Now shut up and help me.”

 

“Keep your point away from me then,  _ poof _ .”

 

“STOP SAYING THAT BLOODY WORD!” Rick’s eyes are bulging out, hands clenched into fists tight enough to leave little half-moons in the palms of his hands.

 

Vyvyan stares blankly at the poet for a long moment and he visibly deflates, his anger fading into embarrassment. “Right. We met at a lecture or something. A pub. Doesn’t matter.”

 

“Right,” Rick sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?”


	4. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so short and shitty i've been Dead a while and this is the best i could do for right now

“A Tough Kid Who Sometimes Swallows Nails”

Chapter Four

Interlude  
  
  
  
  


 

Rick shudders, glancing anxiously between the driveway leading up to his parents’ house and where Vyvyan is standing next to him, picking at his fingernails absentmindedly. He licks his lips, nervous, feeling a bit like he might faint before he manages to force the words out.

 

“Vyvyan,” he begins, and the punk glances back at him. The lump in his throat grows only bigger. “I think--I think we should--”

 

He tries to sound bossy but can’t seem to pull it off, face growing redder. Vyvyan’s going to kick his ass, he’s sure of it, and he’s going to deserve it for being so bloody stupid but he can’t stop himself from asking and--

 

“Give it here,” Says Vyvyan, and he takes Rick’s clammy hand in his, interlocking their fingers with an ease that makes Rick gag a little.

 

“Right, yeah,” he mumbles, growing more embarrassed at his profuse sweating, no doubt making his hand even clammier. Vyvyan doesn’t seem to notice--or he doesn’t care--as he starts up towards the house, dragging the poet behind him.

 

Rick feels his chest tighten like he can’t breathe and he can’t do this this was a terrible idea he should’ve just stayed home is it too late to turn back it can’t be too late--

 

Vyvyan pounds on the door and Rick squeezes his other hand in a death grip, paralyzed by fear. 

 

“Don’t be a girl.”

 

“ _ I’m not-- _ ”

 

And then the door opens and they’re bathed in the light of the inside and Rick’s words die in his throat as he stares up at his father.

 

“Richard.”

 

“Father,” He gulps, forcing a smile that looks more like a baring of teeth than anything.

 

Mr. Pratt’s gaze moves to Vyvyan and he frowns disapprovingly, trying to stare him down. It’s a trick he’s done plenty of times before, an intimidation thing, but once again Vyvyan either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

 

“And who’s this?”

 

“Vyvyan,” says Vyvyan, without further explanation. “We’re poofs together.”

 

“He’s my uhh…..” Rick trails off, trying to summon up the nerve to actually say it and internally kicking himself for chickening out. “Flatmate.”

 

“Boyfriend.”

 

“Friend.”

 

“Gay lover.” 

 

He stares at Vyvyan in shock at how casually he says it, not missing the smug upward twist of his lips at Rick’s father’s obvious discomfort.

 

“Isn’t that right, kitten?” It takes everything in him not to laugh, nervous as he is, but then Vyvyan squeezes his hand tighter and he squeezes back and finds it and plays along.

 

“Of course, how silly of me….my little dumpling...?” Vyvyan gives him a withering look but doesn’t say anything about it.

 

“...Right.” Rick’s father raises an eyebrow, visibly annoyed, and steps aside to allow them in.


End file.
